I think it would be really cool if there was still a milk man. Some guy in a white hat who happily rung your door bell and gave you the good stuff whenever you needed it. Instead, I’m always out. Milk in my home goes faster than a kid chasing an ice cream truck. If I bought enough to last us the week, there wouldn’t be any room in the fridge for anything else. It would be cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I can hear the happy squeals already. But, being a responsible mother, I better not do that. Although, sometimes it’s temping. But I digress, back to the milk man.

It’s the bottom of the 4th, my team is down by 10 runs and we’re pumped; this is one of our better games.
This summer I joined a baseball team and we stink. Thing is, we don’t care, we’re having a blast. The only points we have are spirit points which means we’re really good at being loud even though we’re really bad at catching pop flies. My 12 year old son, who has been to two games, says he won’t go to another one. It’s not that he doesn’t like to watch us lose, he just can’t handle that we don’t care.

In the last month I’ve shushed my 12 year old son more than ever before. This same boy who would never reveal a birthday surprise no matter how much his sister begs can’t contain himself when it comes to revealing the plot of a book. That’s because I’ve been reading his books, the absolutely enthralling trilogy, The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. And he loves to ask me questions that go like this, “Did you get to the part where…” and then he reveals some critical information.

There are certain things that are embarrassing to buy. Most of these things you purchase at a drug store. I could list them but that would make me blush. My question is, don’t the people who make the decisions in Drug Stores know that they sell stuff that we don’t want to brandish around like trophies? Because if they do, they don’t care. At Shoppers Drug Mart if you need a bag you have to buy one. Apparently dignity costs 5 cents.

Remember when you were a kid and snowstorms were a good thing? Now we curse that white stuff
that makes a mess in our driveways and wreaks havoc on our roads. It’s cold, it’s wet and it’s slippery.But if you look at it through the eyes of a child and you see something completely different. You see
white bliss, a snowman named Bob and a snow fort where no boys are aloud.

Which month is the real New Year? Sure the calendar screams at us that it’s January but in my heart September always seems more like a new beginning. Kids go back to school and start a new grade with a new teacher and a new classroom, maybe even a new school.

Flying just got personal. Have you been to an airport lately? All this media hype about full body scanners and intrusive pat downs has got me paranoid. The thing isl it’s cold here. But standing in my way of warmth is some stranger who apparently gets to see all my parts or touch them.

We have visitors in my house. They came in August and they don’t seem to be going anywhere soon. Their names are Mario, Luigi and Yoshi. This particular trio hadn’t visited since 1993 when they got replaced by a play station, stuffed into a box and put into storage. Yup good ole Super Nintendo – apparently you’ve been missed

I guess I’m no spring chicken. The signs of aging are hitting me in the face – literally. And every day brings a new reminder that if I’m planning on having a mid-life crisis I need to get a move on. But with age brings tiredness and a crisis of any kind seems like too much work.

My son went to camp in August for two weeks. It was traumatic. Not for him, for me. I sent him 8 letters, ok 9 if you include the one from the dog. In return he sent one; it was pretty much illegible, written in a hurry in a room full of other 11 year old boys. That’s ok, at least I knew he